


What You Want

by not_a_heartthrob_my_ass



Series: Peter Capaldi x female reader oneshots [1]
Category: British Actor RPF, Real Person Fiction
Genre: F/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, RPF, Smut, blowjob, handjob
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-29
Updated: 2015-07-29
Packaged: 2018-04-11 22:51:08
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,486
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4455524
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/not_a_heartthrob_my_ass/pseuds/not_a_heartthrob_my_ass
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Peter is tired and you find a way to cheer him up.<br/>(aka Peter can’t sit like a proper lady: it gives you ideas.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	What You Want

**Author's Note:**

> This is RPF, real person fan fiction. Not meant to offend, just a bit of fun. Don't like, don't read. 
> 
> You can find me on Tumblr under not-a-heartthrob-my-ass and you're more than welcome to request fics!

Peter has this restless way of sitting. Actually, he’s restless overall, hardly can stay still. Except when he’s drawing and when he’s tired.

He’s particularly tired tonight after a long day of filming and filming at night yesterday as well, and you’re surprised to find him still awake, sprawled on the sofa, when you come back from the kitchen after doing the dishes. -Usually, he insists on helping you, but today sent him off to rest and he didn’t have the energy to argue-.

You lean against the doorframe, watching him switch from one channel to another on the telly, in search of something of his liking. His head his resting against the back of the sofa, hair slightly dishevelled, his arse nearly on the edge of the seat and thighs lazily spread wide. It’s probably an awful position for his back, but you can’t help a smile at his open legs, the outline of his cock and his balls vaguely distinguishable through the thin fabric of his pyjama trousers. -Endowed as he is, he shouldn’t be allowed to wear tight trousers, but he loves to and even though it drives you crazy you’re never, ever going to tell him to stop-. He isn’t doing it on purpose, since he’s hardly the luring or seductive type, but it almost looks like an invitation. And you’re no one to refuse an invitation of this sort from Peter Capaldi himself.

You approach him silently, only gaining his attention when you place your hand on his left knee, pretending you’re going to sit next to him. He looks up at you with a weak smile, acknowledging your presence, then returns his eyes back to the TV. You smile, inverting your movement and fluidly sinking between his thighs. He glances down, surprised at first, then mischievous.

“Want something, darlin’?”

Your elbows rest on his upper thighs, your hands supporting your face, contemplating him from below. “Was more thinking about what you want,” you tease.

He hesitates. “… don’t want to start something I can’t finish… I’m quite tired.” He smiles apologetically.

You undo the string of his trousers. “You don’t have to do anything. Just feel.”

You dip your hand inside his trousers, knowing too well he doesn’t use underwear under pyjamas, wrapping your fingers around his cock and starting to slowly stroke him into awareness. His mouth opens slightly and his eyes go unfocused for a second.

“Well, in that case- _oh_. _Mmh_.”

You run your hand up and down his shaft in earnest now and watch his eyes close and his body relax and almost imperceptibly lean into your touch as he sucks in a breath. You tug his trousers downwards and he lifts his hips just enough to let you remove the item of clothing. He hardens quickly, turning thick and heavy in your grasp as his palm comes to rest on your shoulder. His other hand fists a pillow next to him, twisting it in his fingers.

His head falls back limply and his mouth opens just a little more as you start rubbing your thumb over the tip of his cock at every upward stroke, a blush making its way on his cheeks, and you know you have him exactly where you want. He’s thrusting to meet your rhythm now, so you purposefully slow down and loosen your grip on him to see that adorable frown, that almost-pout that knits his eyebrows together when he doesn’t get what he wants. His hand caresses up your neck and through your hair and he licks his lips before speaking. His voice is hoarse and sends a rush of heat straight to your core.

“Oh, _fuck_ , darling. More. Please.”

You grin wickedly. God knows how much you love to hear him beg, and to be honest you don’t have the heart to deny him anything if he asks the right way. You resume touching him more firmly and at the same time you dip your head, no longer looking at him, place a kiss on his inner thigh before licking his balls wantonly, your tongue flat on his skin. You shoot a look up, knowing he immensely enjoys watching you do this, and _of course he’s watching_ , dark, heavy-lidded, water-green eyes staring down at you, drinking the sight of you, making the strongest lash of arousal and electricity run down your spine just with the expression on his face, one of pure lust and need.

The pace of your hand slows down again as you distribute brief, enthusiastic licks on his balls and the spot behind them, which you know is a sensitive one, making Peter squirm under your touch, gasp audibly and swear softly under his breath.

“Shit. _Oh_. Yeah, that’s- _oh fuck_.”

You suck on the skin on his balls, measuredly, not too hard, careful not to hurt him, and it has his hips spasm in the most delicious way as your thumb torments the head of his prick. He’s breathing erratically through gritted teeth, a strong blush evenly, gorgeously spread all over his face and neck and his chest beneath his pyjama shirt.

You revel in the sight for a moment, that sight no one else gets to see, as you draw a long lick from his balls to the base of his length, all the way up to the tip. You flick your tongue around the head, wet with pre-cum, and slide your hand down to cup his balls, massaging them gently as Peter gives in to a soft moan and pleas of your name.

You give him what he wants, finally taking him in your mouth, swirling your tongue around the head and rubbing its tip against the sensitive underside, hearing him groan as your fingers tease his balls with calculated moves, his hand finding its definite place in your hair. Not guiding or pushing, just needing something to hold onto to avoid entirely losing contact with reality.

He arches his hips into your mouth, slow and gentle, following your rhythm as you let your lips slide down his length, taking as much of him as you can into your mouth before sliding back up again, adding suction to the move, repeating the motion with increasing pace, every time sucking a little harder, a little longer, lingering at the head of his cock.

You can feel his orgasm. You can feel it in his balls that you torment leisurely in your hand, in his short breath and in his muscles tensed at his abdomen, in his fingers trembling against your scalp as his hips jerk upwards involuntarily.

“Darlin’. Gonnae-”

He cries out as you place both your hands on his hips to still him and suck hard once, twice, three times before he can spend himself in warm drops in your mouth, body going rigid, a moan of sheer ecstasy falling from his lips together with your name.

You swallow the result of his orgasm as you slide your lips up his cock, licking him clean as you look up at him, his face flush, hair slightly damp with sweat, breathing heavily, one hand rising and falling with his chest and the other still in your hair, caressing in a mixture of gratitude and appreciation. You smile: he’s on a completely different plane of existence right now and it’s beautiful, hot, and it’s all because of you.

You lick your lips and move to sit on the sofa next to him, smiling at him, extremely pleased with yourself. You run your hand affectionately through his wet curls and he hums his approval.

“Good?” you question cheekily.

A scoff and a Tucker-esque smirk that says more than one thousand words. “Hm mh.”

Peter closes his eyes with a blissful look on his face and tilts his head to allow you better access to the area behind his ear, so you can alternate caresses with gentle scratching. He makes an utterly cat-like, reverberating sound and at first you think he’s pretending to purr to make you laugh -which you nearly do, because he’s actually adorable- before you see his upper lip curl and he exhales slowly, loudly, completely relaxed and you realize he’s _asleep_. Snoring softly. You smile. Poor thing, he really was tired.

You curl up on the sofa, snuggling against him, your head on his shoulder. You close your eyes. You might as well take a nap too, you decide. You leave the telly and the lights on, so maybe at least one of you will wake up relatively soon. He murmurs in his sleep, something that sounds remarkably like his -poor- imitation of the sonic screwdriver, and you wonder if in his dreams he’s the Doctor and he’s fighting Daleks, blowing them up.

Admittedly, you’ll have to ask him why he would dream about Daleks after you gave him a frankly _at the very least_ skilful blowjob, you think just before drifting off.


End file.
